Wherever You May Go
by YouKnowYouLovett
Summary: In which is told a 'horribly mangled love story'. Fluff-ish. Sweenett, I guess, if you can find it somewhere in there...


**I'm afraid I don't own Mr. Todd, nor his accomplice, but they _do_ belong to... Well, themselves, actually. (In case you've not yet learned, Sweeney Todd was a very real person). Enjoy! **

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The cold, dreary day in London started off as all of the others that had preceded it- raining and horribly miserable. Such was the case, in times like this, and perhaps it was solely because of his hatred and revulsion of the dreadful place that it came to be like this nearly every morning. What few trees that were around to be seen had since lost their leaves, and he could tell that winter was inevitably setting in; it was only a matter of time before all of the vermin-filled city was covered with a blanket of white powder, much like the flour that his accomplice used every day. 

A pane in which the glass had cracked in a small spot and was now vacant of a shard allowed the wind to hiss and howl into the small, terribly unwelcoming barber's shop, and it brought music to Sweeney Todd's ears. There was nothing that he delighted in more than listening to the foreboding tune that the wind would carry in high-pitched notes and melodies. He would become absorbed and entranced by it's strange beauty, but it wasn't just the music that made a smirk cross his worn, pale face. It was, rather, the _lyrics._ They softly sang harmonies and cadences of sorrow, of death, but, and perhaps most especially, revenge. It was the only thing that this certain barber ever had on his mind, and that in itself was none too assuring.

Almost as quickly as it had come, the slight smirk faded away from his lips as he heard footsteps coming up over the stairs. Quite light and fast, they were, and unmistakably those of the baker. Sighing briefly and doing his best to pull out of his thoughts before he was interrupted unwillingly, Todd braced himself for what he knew would be a horribly long and annoying conversation. Soon enough, Mrs. Lovett burst through the door, panting quietly from her trip up the steps. It took her a moment to notice that her love was standing in front of the window, silent, though she knew that it should have been obvious to her by now- he never left that spot once, except to shave his customers. She could feel the definite chill in the air and quickly hunched her shoulders and began rubbing her hands together to stay warm. She was used to the cozy temperature of her own little shop and parlour below his own shop, but maybe it was colder up here, still, because of whom the dingy little edifice was inhabited by. After all, those who didn't know dear Mr. Todd like she did would shiver at the mere sight of him, for his looks certainly weren't of the hospitable kind.

He remained staring out the window, pure and utter hatred filling his dark brown, nearly black, eyes to the brim. How much longer could he go on like this? It was becoming overwhelming, knowing that even after the judge was dead and gone, (hopefully baked in a pie which he, himself, Todd, would eat with great pleasure and satisfaction), he would have nothing but bygone memories and days, not to mention a newly acquired admirer. He hoped that the baker didn't honestly find him _that_ naïve to not know that she was madly in love with him, no matter how thoroughly disgusting he found it. Yes, true, he had been quite naïve a long time ago, going on sixteen miserable years, but it was also true that in those days, he had been Benjamin Barker, a bright, happy man whom would have done anything for his wife or daughter in a heartbeat. Yet, somehow, he had managed to lose his wife and daughter to Turpin, the very devil himself (which he, afterwards, thought ironic, given his own profession). Finally, after his thoughts had subsided and much contemplation about the subject, he turned around and faced Mrs. Lovett. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear anything coming out at all. He decided to simply focus on what it was she was trying to tell him, but before he could so much as even blink, she was right next to him, as though she had been moving at a faster speed than all of the other appalling humans on the planet.

"Did you 'ear _anythin'_ what I just said?" Mrs. Lovett placed her hands on her hips and stared at Todd, not sure whether or not to touch him, for fear of him turning into some sort of rabid animal. For some reason, she wouldn't put biting and animal-like behaviour past him. "No, o' course you 'aven't. On about that bloody ol' judge again, is ya? I tells ya, Mr. T, you'll be the death o' yourself one o' these days." Shaking her head, she led him over to the worn out chair and sat him brusquely into it. Never ever did he listen to her! He couldn't seem to keep himself focused on the present. It was either the past or the future (well, up until Turpin's death, at least- she wasn't quite sure what he had in mind for afterwards). As much as she hated to see him so terribly hurt and in pain, there was little or nothing that she could do for him anymore. Telling him to do things didn't get them done, advising him to stop thinking so much about the past just made him think about it even more, and telling him that they would get to Turpin soon enough just made him more angry (heaven knew why), therefore there was nothing left to do. Gently stroking his arm, trying to soothe him, Mrs. Lovett began to sing quietly under her breath.

"_Easy now, hush, love, hush-_"

"_Don't_," came Todd's sharp reply. He hated it when she touched him, when she tried to be Lucy. She _wasn't_, and it was bloody well time she knew it.

Abruptly pushing himself out of the chair and shrugging her hand off of his arm, he sprang over to the door, quicker than he thought he was capable of, and locked it, smiling a hideous smile upon turning around to face his accomplice again. He knew that he had her now, and it made him even more satisfied to know that she would be dead and burning in Hell before Turpin- that way, he could do away with him without any interruptions. Swiftly moving to his set of razors and picking up his favourite, he walked over to Mrs. Lovett and pushed her into the chair, causing her to give a small, almost squeak, at the hard impact. Her eyes widened frightfully as she saw the razor in his hand, gleaming just like it had the day she had pulled them out of the floorboards to reunite her beloved with them. The blade was opened from its resting place and soon found its way to her neck, sending a shiver up her spine at the coolness of the metal against her pale skin.

"Beautiful, isn't it, Mrs. Lovett," he spat as he caught her eyeing his friend. "Would you like to become better acquainted with him? Perhaps spend a little quality time together, _rubies to silver?_" He pressed gently, managing to draw blood on the tip of the razor as he stared, mesmerized, at it. How much redder her blood was than anybody's that he had ever laid eyes on before; how well it contrasted with the silver, like no rubies before them had ever done.

"Look, Mrs. Lovett; look at what runs just beneath your pallid flesh… Look at all of the lies and secrets that have been brought forth by a mere blade. And to think, all this time, that these little lies have been begging to be set free. Should I give them that pleasure now, or let them relish in their glee a little longer?" He drew more blood, this time, from the other side of her neck, then twirled the razor in his hand, displaying it for Mrs. Lovett. Her breathing was unsteady, now that she knew what was to become of her. It was only a matter of time before he finished his two little cuts and made them whole across her throat.

"I've suffered long and hard, Nellie Lovett, and I plan to make you do the same. I hope that your death, above all the others that I have invoked on my customers, will be slow and horribly painful for all of the wrongs that you've-"

"Wrongs what I've done you?! I've done nothin' but been kind to you! 'elped you out loads, I did! Ain' nobody else what would'a done the things I's done for you! Think ol' Mrs. Mooney would'a let you stay with 'er an' opened up your shop there? I really do doubt that, love, as much as you 'ate to admit it."

What she had said was true, but it gave Todd no more reason to not wish to kill her. All the same, he found himself being drawn to her, instead of repulsed. Perhaps it was the look that her eyes held- the fear and love mixed together in a chocolaty little world… Or maybe it wasn't that at all- maybe it was something far more than her eyes. It could be simply her being, the way that she so lovingly cared for him every waking hour… But no, that wasn't right. He was Sweeney Todd, not silly, inexperienced Benjamin Barker. Todd had been through more in fifteen years than Barker ever would have in his lifetime, had it not so rudely been interrupted. Never was he going to fall for somebody that wasn't his precious, virtuous Lucy. His Lucy, with such pale, beautiful skin, which Mrs. Lovett's uncannily resembled. Damn the thoughts! They would all go to Hell with him, and thus be burned miserably into little piles of ash, much like he knew he would… Oh, but it would be worth it- _so_ worth it, for his Lucy would be avenged. Though he would never be able to see her again, comfort was found just by knowing that she would be up in a happy, beautiful, bright place, which he was much undeserving of. Only when Todd caught the sound of Mrs. Lovett whimpering quietly did he fully come out of his thoughts and return to the moment. Running the blade down her arm to her fingertip, he spoke only when he was rewarded with the hot blood that seeped from the cut.

"There, now, Mrs. Lovett. Don't worry your pretty little head. It won't be much longer, now, and you'll be in a wonderful place, much like the cellar that you so lovingly call a pie-making factory," he spat, sarcasm dripping from nearly every word.

"Mr. T, please don' do it! Don' kill me! Think o' Turpin an' 'ow much you wanna kill 'im!"  
"I _won't_ think of Turpin- not yet at least. Not until this floor is entirely stained red from your sinful blood; not until people avoid coming even relatively _near_ here, for fear that they might become as corrupted and immoral as_you_."

Finishing his statement with a swift slit down her other arm, and one from her chest to her stomach, he smiled maliciously, soaking up every blood-filled minute. Todd delighted in the fact that he was causing his accomplice so much pain, and yet, at the same time, he felt as though his heart were about to break. Somehow, seeing the usually strong and cheery Mrs. Lovett in a state that wasn't even fit for the most errant of people made him stop and think. Poor Todd was conflicted by his thoughts. On one hand, Lucy was dead, (or so he had been led to believe), and he knew that she was never coming back. He knew that it would be so very wrong of him to wish to be with anybody else but his one, true love. And on the other hand, there was Mrs. Lovett. She had cared for him more in the past little while than Lucy ever had, and she seemed to be willing to do just about anything for him, and would most likely follow him wherever he might go, whether or not it was a good place to be. Even after all he had done to her, she seemed no more willing to leave him be than the day that he had first arrived at her shop as Benjamin Barker. Life was, and had been, so terribly unkind to him, and he dealt with it the only way he knew how. Gazing over the cutthroat with mild interest, he examined the blood that was still fresh, and he began tilting the blade this way and that to watch the drops run up and down the silver. Then, and only then, did he look up into Mrs. Lovett's perfectly brown eyes and give her the faintest smile.

"Please forgive me."

It was then that he took his own life instead of hers, and the last thing that he saw, dismaying him greatly, was that of a horrified-looking Mrs. Lovett. He had really thought that she would have been at least slightly pleased that he had decided to spare her, but time was short, and allowed him to think no more after the razor slipped from his pale hand and clanked to the floor.

Her love was now sprawled upon the floorboards, blood running from the deep cut across his throat. As much in pain as she was, Mrs. Lovett eased herself out of the blood-covered barber's chair, dropped to the floor and began crawling towards Todd, sobs taking all of her remaining energy from her. Though she hated to admit to herself the reality of the situation, she couldn't help but smile at the thought. He was free now- finally free of all the pain, the sadness and despair. It had never been right that one such as him had suffered so much more than anybody else ever would. And yet, even through his dragged-out, despondent life, he carried on, living only on his need for vengeance. As she grew weaker, she finally reached her beloved Mr. Todd and collapsed on top of him. She ran her hand through his black hair and smiled at how peaceful his face seemed to be. Never before had she seen him looking so serene. She could feel herself fading quickly, and drawing her last breath, she whispered words that she hoped he could hear.

"_I'll be there, Mr. Todd... Wherever you may go, I'll follow._"

Eyes closing, Mrs. Lovett rested her head on top of his as the life finally escaped her partially parted lips. The blood of the two business partners became entangled and mixed as it flowed from their bodies and cascaded over the floor. It seeped into the cracks in the floorboards and around the silver razor that still lay aside, permanently staining it with a hideous shade of red. Such would have been considered a typical horror scene, but with the serenity seen on Todd's face, and the happiness on Mrs. Lovett's, one could only assume that it was no more than a very slightly mangled love story.

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**Thanks for taking the time to read, however, this story is probably quite unworthy of good reviews. Heck, hope you liked it anyway- whatever.**


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